If there is a joy on earth like that which fills all heaven, it is to see a young, rough, wild boy snatched from the power of sin and Satan. If anything can add to that joy, it is to witness such a one finish his short course with gladness, and pass away, not only in peace, but positively triumphing over death and the grave.
I am going to tell you of one who passed away from all the sin and sorrow, and temptations and the defilents of a crowded and wicked city, into the presence of his Lord.
You all know that a great many boys who spend time idly on the streets at night and perhaps I need not tell you that, as a rule, they are an uncared for, and wicked class of boys. But among these I have found a precious, and not unfruitful field of labor. I seek to make these boys my friends. When the day’s work is done, I gather them around me, to help them, and instruct them, and as often as possible tell them of the love and the life, and the dying work of One who came down from heaven to save poor sinners, the Lord Jesus Christ.
On visiting my boys one day, I found that one was absent, kept away by sickness, and on the same evening I was unexpectedly spoken to by his father, who in great distress told me that he was lying dangerously ill at the hospital, and that he greatly wand to see me. Poor man! the sting of death was piercing his soul.
“O,” said he, with an anxious, agonized face, and the tears trickling down his care worn cheeks, “O, my son!”
I tried to comfort him, but, alas! he knew not Christ, nor the antidote to the sting of death.
That night I hastened to the hospital, and was soon by the bedside of my suffering boy. There he lay, but he did not know me. He was in a raging fever and unconscious to all around; yet was his mind most active. And what do you think filled his thoughts? JESUS, the blessed Lord Jesus, whom, in spite of all his temptions and circumstances, he had learned to trust as his Saviour, and to love as a friend. In the midst of the raging fever, what do you think was the burden of his song?
“Safe in the arms of Jesus,” rang out clear in that hospital ward. It was sorrowful to see such a wreck of nature, but, O, the relief, when in the midst of that wreck, the soul can thus cling to, and find its rest in Jesus.
The next time I stood by that beide, the fever was gone, but weakness was left behind. With outstretched arms he welcomed me, and again, but now with feeble voice, came forth the same cheering words.
“Safe in the arms of Jesus” calling forth from myself the joyful response, “Yes, safe on His loving breast.”
“Yes, yes,” said the boy, a bright smile lighting up his face, “I am resting there in perfect peace.”
After a few sentences from the Word of God, and a few words of prayer (for he was too weak to bear much), I rose to leave. Gently drawing my ear to his face, he whispered.
“I want you to take my message to the boys. Tell them I was once a poor, needy, guilty sinner, but that Jesus has died for me; tell them I am simply trusting in the finished work of Christ; tell them that, helpless as I am, He will not cast me out; tell them, ‘Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world.’
“O! tell them I want them to meet me in glory; tell them the same Jesus is there, and that He has gone to prepare a home in that beautiful land for all those who will put their trust in Him.”
His strength was nearly gone, but there stood his weeping, unconverted mother, and it seemed as if he could not depart without one more appeal to her. O, how he prayed, how he urged her to come to Jesus. His last feeble whispers were,
“Mother, I am dying; promise me you will meet me in the glory.” Most touching and solemn was this moment. There lay the dying, beseeching, pleasing, gasping boy; there stood the weeping, brokenhearted mother. And then with sobs came out the promise,
“O, yes, I will meet you in glory.”
Nor was it a vain promise, for she too has since found the joy of being safe in the arms of Jesus.
Dear young friends, is there no meage in these dying words for you? If stricken down with fever, would your language be,
“Safe in the arms of Jesus?” Or would it have to be said of you,
“So near the door—and the door stood wide—
Close to the port—but not inside!
Near to the flock—yet not within!
Almost resolved to give up sin!
Almost persuaded to count the cost!
Almost a Christian—and yet lost!”
O, that your cry may be—
“Saviour; I come, I cry unto Thee;
O, let not these words be true of me!
I want to come to the point today;
O, suffer me not to turn away!
Give me no rest till my soul shall be
Within the refuge—Safe in Thee!”
ML 07/22/1945